


Strange Love

by skylar_storm13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Choking, Dirty Talk, F/M, Feels, Flashbacks, Hair-pulling, Mob Boss Tom Riddle, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylar_storm13/pseuds/skylar_storm13
Summary: He’s hardly changed in two years. Still tall, still gorgeous, still infuriatingly smug about everything, as if he owns this house instead of Blaise. That arrogance used to drive Hermione crazy, but she finds herself drinking in his figure despite herself- despite how he dropped out of her life one day, no explanation, and no communication since.She wishes she could pull on that anger, be furious with him, storm up to him and demand answers. But her heart races instead, her fingertips tingle and she feels alive for the first time since he left.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 13
Kudos: 186





	Strange Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! So this is the original draft of my piece for the 2020 Tomione Smut Fest, but my prompt was “hate sex”... and as you will see, there are way too many feelings in here for that tag to be accurate lmao (also I’m pretty sure I went over the word limit too). So I had to start over. That being said, because some of the plot concepts are the same, there may be some similarities between the two stories. The final piece, Unholy, can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331588) if you’d like to read it. I also recommend checking out the rest of the smut fest entries! There are some amazing pieces there 😊  
> Okay, enough talking ;) Hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> P.S. This piece is titled “Strange Love” after the Halsey song- specifically for that one line about the bathroom sink 👀 lol

Hermione Granger really does _not_ want to be here. 

In fact, if it wasn’t for Ginny’s insistence (who had abandoned her immediately after arriving, big surprise there), she’s very certain that she _wouldn’t_ be here. She’d be back at her apartment, sitting on the couch with Crookshanks, drinking tea and reading a book.

Hermione has never wanted to teleport herself to that scene more than this very moment.

“Her- _myyyy-ohhhh-kneeeee_!” Lavender squeals, slinging an arm around Hermione’s neck and nearly pulling her down with her as she stumbles. Her other hand grips a red solo cup, and the contents nearly spill out as she giggles at her own clumsiness. “I am... _so_ glad you’re here!”

“Oh...uh...thanks, Lavender,” Hermione answers, trying to remember the last time she had even seen the girl, much less spoken to her. It had to have been before they graduated High School. Why she’s bothering with acting like they’re best friends, Hermione isn’t sure, but she bets the contents of her cup have something to do with it.

She really does _not_ want to be here.

“Why don’ you come to these parties ‘nymore?” Lavender continues, slurring quite embarrassingly. “We never see you!”

“I’ve never come to these parties,” Hermione explains gently, subtly trying to slip out of the girl’s grasp. _And I never will again_ , she thinks privately. 

The pounding bass of whatever song is playing at the moment is starting to give her a headache, and she’s never been one for alcohol, so being the only sober person in the room isn’t exactly her idea of _fun_.

But she knows that parties and alcohol and making a fool of oneself is considered a social activity, and if you don’t go and participate, you’re considered removed from the “inner circle”.

Hermione really hasn’t ever cared before, preferring to be alone anyway, but with the recent breakup…

“Well you should!” Lavender continues, and Hermione wonders if she knows she’s yelling. 

“All right,” Hermione replies after a beat, not really knowing what to say. She imagines it would be rude to list all of the reasons she will never come to another one of these events again.

“Let’s go find the boys,” Lavender announces like she is the one who should be making decisions, and proceeds to stumble her way through the masses of twenty-somethings. 

Hermione watches her go, having absolutely no intention of following. She knows who “the boys” includes, and she’d really rather not interact with him this evening. 

Instead, she spots an armchair in the corner, next to a wide window, and makes her way over. 

She’ll sit here and wait for the inevitable fight between Ginny and Harry, and then she’ll be able to leave with a clear conscience, knowing Ginny is snoring in the backseat.

As Hermione observes the party happening around her, looking quickly away when she spots tongues entering mouths or groping hands, she reflects on how she came to this moment.

*****

_“Come on, Hermione,” Ginny whines. “You can’t just stay cooped up in here without any social interaction forever! Harry says he hasn’t seen you in_ two weeks _! Were you planning to become a hermit just because you and my brother broke up?”_

_Hermione sighs, pushing a curl out of her face._

_“Of course not. I just think it’s better to have space right now. Ron and I have all the same friends, so I know if I go out and see them, he’ll be there. I’m just...not ready for that yet. The awkwardness.” She winces just thinking about it._

_“It’s going to happen eventually,” Ginny says matter-of-factly. “Might as well get it over with. Tell you what, there’s a party at Blaise’s tonight and everyone’s going. Come with me! It’ll be fun.”_

_“You know I don’t care for parties, Gin.”_

_“Just this once? I’ll stay with you this time, I promise._

_Hermione fights not to roll her eyes._ I’ve heard that one before.

_“Please?” Ginny persists, arranging her features into a pout. “As an early birthday present?”_

_This time Hermione releases the eye roll._

_“Really? You’re pulling that card?”_

_Ginny grins mischievously._

_“Fine,” Hermione relents, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Just this once.”_

_Ginny squeals victoriously and immediately sets out on picking outfits._

*****

_And now look where we are_ , Hermione thinks, shaking her head. _At the party, with me alone and Ginny god-knows where. Typical._

Raised voices from outside the window Hermione is sitting near draw her attention.

Out on the street in front of the house, a rather expensive-looking black car has pulled up. Hermione squints to see through the darkness.

A tall figure, clad in all black, emerges from the driver’s side, while a slim woman with wild curly hair exits the passenger seat. Hermione realizes the yelling is coming from Blaise himself, who is exiting his house to greet the newcomers.

_A personal welcome?_ Hermione muses. _Odd for a college party_.

Shrugging it off, Hermione turns back to the party at the same moment that a boy with flaming red hair turns to look in her direction. Seeing the movement of her head, his eyes catch on hers.

_Shit_.

Ron half raises his hand, an awkward, guilty-looking smile on his face. 

Hermione purses her lips, refusing to wave back. She notices Lavender attached to his bicep, that Solo cup still held at a precarious angle. 

Maybe that’s why she was pretending to be buddy-buddy with her earlier. Hermione looks away.

The front door opens, and Blaise walks in with the couple from outside.

And Hermione’s world stops.

Because there, standing beside Blaise, with an unknown woman clinging to his elbow, is Tom Riddle.

*****

_Hermione stands in the doorway to his apartment, arms crossed, watching as he packs clothes into a duffel bag._

_“So this is your decision, then?”_

_She hates the way her voice wavers. Tom doesn’t even look at her._

_“Don’t make this difficult, Hermione.”_

_She clenches her jaw._

_“Difficult?” She shrills, a hysterical laugh bubbling up her throat. “Why would this be difficult? Seems quite simple to me. You’re leaving with no explanation and I’m supposed to be fine with it.”_

_Tom clenches his hands, pausing at the kitchen entryway._

_“You know why I have to go.”_

_“You keep saying that, but I really don’t.”_

_When it’s clear he isn’t going to reply, she continues._

_“Are you coming back?”_

_Silence._

_“Tom,” Hermione pulls on her anger, refusing to cry in front of him. “I think after five years of friendship, I deserve an explanation for this.” She doesn’t mention the past few months, where they have been decidedly_ more _than friends. She doubts that distinction will matter to him._

_He finally stops, finally looks over at her, and his face is completely blank._

_“Hermione,” he says slowly. “You_ know _why I have to go,”_

_And she does. That’s the worst of it._

_She’s been stubbornly ignoring the signs, deluding herself into believing that Tom was simply taking up boxing, or martial arts, or literally any sport where the amount of bruises he shows up with would be explained. She ignored the shady phone calls he takes, the black bag full of cash in the back of his closet. Ignored the blood she sometimes tasted when they kissed._

_But whatever Tom has gotten himself involved with, it hasn’t ever affected their relationship. She didn’t let it. But now…_

_“You don’t have to go,” Hermione starts, changing tactics. Tom is already shaking his head. “Tom, listen. You can get out. Go to the authorities. Something!”_

_“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“Then tell me!” She pleads, a tear escaping out of the corner of her eye despite her best attempts to hold it back. She wipes it away furiously, hating to be weak in front of him. “I’ll help you, Tom.”_

_“No, you won’t.” Tom commands, all that dominance she enjoys in the bedroom now being employed in an entirely different scenario. “You’re not getting involved in this, Hermione. I’m leaving. There’s no discussion.” He zips up the bag._

_“Tom-” Hermione breaks off as he approaches her, face still betraying nothing. She wonders for a moment if he’s going to kiss her. She can’t decide if she wants that or not._

_He doesn’t._

_Instead, he hands her his keys._

_“Sell the flat for me. All the pertinent paperwork is on the kitchen table.”_

_Hermione stares at him. He might as well have slapped her._

_There’s no waver in her voice this time, when she says,_

_“Fuck you, Tom Riddle.”_

_He lingers, eyes roaming her face for a moment longer. Then,_

_“Goodbye, Hermione.”_

_He leaves, the door closing behind him._

_Hermione finally lets her tears fall._

*****

He’s hardly changed in two years. Still tall, still gorgeous, still infuriatingly smug about everything, as if he owns this house instead of Blaise. That arrogance used to drive Hermione crazy, but she finds herself drinking in his figure despite herself- despite how he dropped out of her life one day, no explanation, and no communication since.

She wishes she could pull on that anger, be furious with him, storm up to him and demand answers. But her heart races instead, her fingertips tingle and she feels _alive_ for the first time since he left.

His hair is slightly longer on top, the curls artfully messy and only adding to his charm. His pale skin is flawless as usual, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut and his mouth sensual. 

The unknown woman next to him says something to Draco, who nods and leads her away. Tom doesn’t give her a second glance.

Blaise still has his attention, gesturing to the air, speaking loudly to be heard over the music. But Tom’s eyes are roving over the house, no emotion at all on his face, searching for something.

Or, Hermione thinks, as they land on her, _someone_. 

She jolts in her seat a little, startled at being found in this dark corner, with all the bodies between them. She knows she probably looks like a deer caught in headlights, but she is frozen, captured in his gaze. 

Surprise flashes across Tom’s face quickly before he again employs that infuriating mask, no further emotions escaping. 

He stares.

Hermione can hear her heart pounding in her ears, just as loud as the bass coming from the speakers nearby. After at least 5 seconds of this excruciating intensity, she stands, not knowing if she will approach him or flee in the opposite direction.

Turns out, she doesn’t have to choose.

Tom says something to Blaise, not taking his eyes off of her, and begins making his way towards her. 

Now would be her last chance to run, and Hermione’s legs even twitch, but she is stuck to the spot, waiting for him.

There’s a metaphor in there, somewhere.

Tom smoothly glides through the party, tall enough that he can see her above everyone’s heads, focus unwavering. 

She opens her mouth when he finally reaches her, stopping a foot away. She imagines for a moment that she will act cool and unbothered, that she will say something to prove that she hasn’t spent the past two years pining in his absence. That she has moved on.

But she’s never been good at lying, especially not to Tom.

So she closes her mouth again, content to let him make the first move. He approached her, after all.

But Tom remains quiet, unmoving in front of her. He just stares.

Finally it gets ridiculous, a pair of boys to their left beginning to look over at the odd couple just standing there staring at each other.

So Hermione opens her mouth once again, a familiar spark of irritation at his stubbornness jump-starting her resolve.

But Tom moves, reaching out to grab her elbow and tug her in the direction of the staircase without a word.

Hermione finally bursts.

“Tom! What the hell are you doing? Let go! Hey!”

Her protests go unrecognized, her slight struggle futile as he drags her behind him. She tries to rip her arm free of his grasp, but his grip only tightens.

They’re at the staircase now, and Hermione is fully pissed not only at Tom’s manhandling but at the fact that no one in the crowd has even bothered to look over at them, much less tried to help her.

_Yet another reason I never come to these godforsaken parties_.

Tom leads her up the stairs, Hermione still squirming in his hold and berating him.

“If you don’t let go of me _right now_ , I swear to god-”

Tom opens the nearest door to them, swinging Hermione inside before closing it behind him.

“What will you do, Hermione?” He says, pulling her back towards him as the lock clicks into place.

Hermione’s words are shocked out of her mouth, the sound of her name in his voice rendering her mute. The sound is so familiar despite not having heard it in so long, that she nearly shivers.

But then she remembers _why_ she hadn’t heard it in so long, and she’s pissed again.

“If you think you can just show up out of nowhere and expect me to be fine with it, you’re crazy,” she spits, finally wrenching her arm free, though she doesn’t back away from him.

Tom regards her coolly, face giving nothing away. They stand in silence, staring at each other, the same scene from downstairs but now the music is muffled through the closed door and Hermione realizes they are alone. Distantly she registers they’re in a bathroom. She swallows. 

“What are you doing here?” 

She thinks he won’t answer at first, still watching her with that cool gaze. Then, after a pause,

“I went by your flat.”  
Hermione blinks, gobsmacked.

“You what?”

“You weren’t there.”

Hermione scrambles for a moment, still thrown at this admission and as unsettled as she always is when he stares at her so intensely. Considering he ignored her first question, she decides to try and seem as unaffected as he is. She clears her throat and straightens up.

“Well, obviously I was here.”

His eyebrow quirks just slightly.

“Obviously.”

Another pause. That drawling voice, deeper than she remembers, makes her heart pound. Her mind is still spinning, trying to catch up to this unexpected turn of events. And there’s something in his gaze, a distant fire that she remembers. He never looked at anyone else like this.

“What are you doing here?” She repeats.

“You weren’t in your flat,” He also repeats, apparently intending her to put the pieces together on her own. Which she can, of course. He was looking for her. But she ignores that and the questions she has about how he knew she’d be _here_ instead, and focuses on maintaining her anger with him. Anger is so much easier.

“Fine,” She dismisses. “But what are you doing back in town?”

He examines her, eyes roaming her face. Then, suddenly,

“I missed you,”

Hermione physically jerks her head back, not expecting that response in a million years. Tom Riddle is many things, but he is never sentimental. 

She blinks several times, trying to keep up. He must want something from her. This must be another game, because why else would he try to appeal to her emotions? She won’t let him win this time.

“Cut the bullshit, Tom,” Hermione snarls. “There’s a reason you’re back here and it isn’t me. Are the police after you? Did you finally get caught?”

Tom scowls, the first emotion she’s seen from him all night. She can’t help but take it as a victory.

“Of course not,” He says, irritated. 

“Then _why are you here?_ ” She nearly shouts, breathing hard.

Tom stares at her for another moment, as if trying to decide something, before his eyes darken. He takes a step towards her.

“Do you really want to know,” He says, no question in his voice, which has now gone down an octave. Dangerous.

Hermione steadies herself, chin lifting a fraction. Refusing to be cowed.

“Yes.”

“I’m here to get the things that belong to me,” He says, still moving towards her. “Money, from a man who stole it from me.” Hermione begins taking steps back, trying to keep distance between them. “A house, that my father never told me about.” His eyes grow ever darker. “And you, Hermione.”

Her back hits the counter at the edge of the bathroom, and Tom steps up into her space, forcing her to crane her neck back to maintain eye contact with him.

“I don’t belong to you,” She says, much weaker than she would have liked. She is breathless again, knocked off balance by his proximity.

“You’ve always belonged to me,” He replies, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, long fingers sliding back into her curls. His eyes are molten.

“Don’t. _Don’t_ look at me like that.”

She’s furious at him. Furious that he thinks he can just waltz back into her life and seduce her into submission. 

She shoves on his chest, but he barely moves. That makes her even angrier.

“You left, Tom.” His hand on her face tightens. “You disappeared and I didn’t hear one word from you for two years. I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

Her voice begins to tremble, so she clenches her jaw shut. Tom looks into her eyes, his face so close to hers now. She knows he will never apologize. She’s not sure what she wants from him anymore.

He takes her hand in his free one, and Hermione tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let her. He brings her hand up to his chest, presses it there with his own. Holds it there.

She feels his heart beating beneath her palm.

Hermione feels like she is falling. She is being swept back into the storm that is Tom Riddle, being carried away into the darkness of loving him. 

And she does, she realizes. She never stopped.

That’s why the breakup with Ron was so numb. Why she can’t bring herself to think of him, even now, when he is only one story below them. She never loved him the way she loves Tom.

It’s wrong, it’s stupid, it will be the death of her.

But Tom has always had this all-consuming effect on her. She can’t escape him. He is all she sees, all she feels. All she can think of.

Hermione breaks, finally deciding to give into it. The pull she’s felt since he stepped inside the house. She’s sick of being left behind, of being not in control. She will choose this for herself.

She will probably regret it, will feel the sting of her bruised pride tomorrow, but here and now, with him so close after all this time, she makes a decision.

She pushes forward the last few inches separating them and kisses Tom Riddle hard on the mouth.

Tom doesn’t hesitate, kissing her back just as forcefully, dropping her hand to join his other tangling in her hair. 

Still angry at him, Hermione’s hands travel to his hair as well, dragging through the silky strands and tugging roughly. Tom grunts, nipping her lip in retribution. 

She is quickly swept up by him, just as she is every time, and somehow it’s like the past two years fall away. It seems as if no time at all has passed. He still kisses her the same way: bruising, punishing, like he wants to devour her where she stands. He still tugs on her curls, still makes her moan whenever he presses the full of his front against her, letting her feel just how much he still wants her.

She’s still mad, somewhere in the back of her mind. But she has spent countless nights alone and aching for him, and he’s here now. 

She shoves her emotions away and just _does_.

She kisses him just as ferociously as he kisses her, licking into his mouth and delighting in the low rumble that erupts from his chest in response. 

His hands start to wander, trailing down her arms and sliding around her waist, seeming to document every part of her, cataloguing what has changed about her and what is the same. Re-learning her curves and edges. 

Hermione finds she wants to do the same, and begins working on the buttons of his shirt. 

She gets about halfway down before he’s got his hand in her hair again, yanking her head back so that their lips disconnect with a wet sound. She pants, staring up at him. His eyes burn.

“Tom…” She begins, but is quickly distracted by the sight of her hand on his chest. His chest, that while looking familiar at first glance- all pale skin and smooth muscles- is irrevocably altered due to the numerous scars that now cover it. Hermione’s breath catches, fingers tracing over a bullet wound on his side.

If there was any lingering doubt about what he’d been up to since he’s left her, it’s gone now.

“Tom,” She says again, much softer now. It’s not pity she feels for him, not exactly, but she’s taken back to the nights that she would be woken up by him stumbling into her flat, bleeding on her floor- when she would tend to his knife wounds in her kitchen and lie to herself about the source of them. 

She knows he does it to himself, but despite all his dark edges…

She still loves him.

“Why?” She asks, heart still racing, lips still tingling, but some of the urgency of the moment gone. “Why did you think you had to leave and...continue this?”

Tom’s eyes had hardened again in the seconds that she had spent assessing his new scars, and his jaw clenches at her inquiry.

“I’m not going to talk about it, Hermione.” He says, voice firm but not quite as icy as when he had left her.

“Not ever?” She prods, unable to help herself. She’s honestly surprised she hasn’t tried to push him away again, with this new evidence of his violence being brought to light, but Tom was always good at worming himself back into her good graces. How many fights had they had that still ended with her in his bed? The bastard.

Tom works his jaw, considering her. His hand on her waist tightens.

“Not now,” He concedes gruffly, and Hermione takes that as another win. She raises back up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, and he allows it. Her hands trail down his bare chest, finishing her work on his buttons to slip his shirt off of his shoulders.

Tom sucks on her tongue, a filthy trick that he learned a week into their... _dalliances_. It always makes Hermione squirm, and this time is no different. She moans into his mouth and begins to feel light-headed, his hands gripping her ass and his hips grinding into hers.

After several long moments, Tom finally pulls away, allowing Hermione to gasp for breath, and trails his lips down over her jaw to her neck. She slides her hands back into his hair, tugging when he nips her with his teeth.

Her head spins, and Hermione pants while Tom sucks hard on her neck, surely leaving a mark. She should probably feel annoyed, but she only feels herself become increasingly wet between her thighs.

Without warning, Tom flips her around, sending her hipbones crashing into the edge of the sink, and Hermione has to plant her hands to steady herself- one on the countertop and one on the mirror. She glances up, taking in how thoroughly wrecked she looks while Tom rucks her dress up above her waist and tears her panties down her thighs.

She sucks in a sharp breath when he catches her gaze through the mirror, his dark eyes burning, and slips a hand around her neck. A flush creeps up her cheeks. He looks so powerful, standing shirtless behind her with eyes as black as night. He looks dangerous.

“Still dating that ginger prick?” He mutters roughly, fingertips just barely squeezing the sides of her throat.

She swallows, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, but she shakes her head all the same. _How did he even know…?_

Her attention is quickly diverted when Tom makes a satisfied noise, tightening his grip on her neck and using his other hand to sharply slap her ass.

Hermione moans.

“Good,” He growls, hand sliding down to cup her soaked pussy. “This is _mine_ ,”

Hermione knows, just like she always does, that she should be angry about this. She’s not an object- she doesn’t belong to anyone but herself. But she also knows, just like always, that Tom’s possessive words only make her melt into him further. He knows exactly what she likes. 

Tom keeps his eyes locked with hers in the mirror when his fingers spread her apart, feeling how wet she is and releasing a hiss in response. Her fingers turn to claws on the countertop.

He uses a foot between hers to spread her legs apart, bending her further over the counter by the hand on her throat.

“Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy?” He asks, voice deep and dark. He gives her another slap on the ass. “Gonna let me have my way with you while all your little friends are just downstairs?”

Hermione bites her lip, hating herself for being turned on at the thought, and nods.

Tom makes a rough, satisfied noise and releases her throat to drag his hand down her spine, his other hand occupied with dragging his long, slender fingers through her folds.

She moans when he reaches her clit, two fingertips sliding gently around and around until she’s clenching around nothing, moaning unabashedly.

“Fuck,” Tom mutters, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. “Always so wet for me,”

He’s right, but Hermione still blushes. Two years, and still some things never change.

As Tom lines up his cock with her entrance, sliding up and down through her lips to coat himself in her slick, Hermione can’t help but wonder at herself. She’s never this daring, she’s never the type of girl who fucks guys in a bathroom at a party. She’s the type of girl that studies weeks in advance for a test, the type that would rather stay at home and read a book than ever step foot in a bar. But here she is. Bent over a sink with her dress around her hips, letting _Tom Riddle_ take whatever he wants just because she missed him. How weak does that make her?

But she doesn’t feel weak when he slides in, when she watches his face in the mirror. She sees what she does to him, what her body has _always_ done to him, and she feels powerful.

Here is Tom Riddle, probable gang leader or mafia boss or whatever he is, who is most likely wanted by law enforcement, moaning and staring down at her body enraptured. 

In that moment, she _is_ powerful.

She stretches around him, feeling him slide all the way in and moaning herself- the fullness so decadently familiar, yet her muscles straining in response to the long interlude since he was last inside of her. She gasps when he pushes that final half-inch inside, as deep as he can get.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

Tom curses when she clenches around him, spurring him on, and takes firm grasp of her hips before pulling slowly out. She keens, loving the feeling, but still she wants- _more_.

“Tom-”

Before she can even get the request out, he slams his full length back into her, punching the air right out of her lungs. She barely has time to gasp before he does it again, setting a relentless pace and sending her head spinning.

He bites out a curse when she throws her head back, her arched spine allowing him to sink just a little bit further inside. 

“Shit, Hermione,” He groans, one hand reaching out to tangle back in her hair, the other still biting bruises into her hip. His lips are swollen red, hair a mess, sweat starting to bead on his bare chest, riddled with scars. His muscles contract with every thrust into her, and his _eyes_...they have such fire in them, so impossibly dark...he is a vision behind her. 

Hermione can’t stop staring.

This is the man that had torn her heart out, that had made her fall for him only to walk away without a look back. Before that, he was her best friend. An asshole, but the only one who could keep up with her mentally, academically- the only one of her friends who would be content to read with her in silence, who wouldn’t roll his eyes when she wanted to debate the latest research article or talk about the latest documentary she had seen. Tom had been such a large part of her that even now, even after all that had obviously happened to him and changed him in their time apart...he still feels like coming home.

Hermione cries out when he tugs on her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her throat- all the bruises already forming on her tender skin now visible. He always was a possessive bastard.

Hermione pants, overwhelmed by his pace, just letting him use her. It feels good to give up control, even for a little while.

She had missed this.

As if reading her mind, Tom lets go of her hip and slaps her ass, causing her to moan.

“Bet he never fucked you this well, huh?” He asks, giving her another smack for good measure. She has to admit she has hardly even thought of Ron since she had seen Tom again.

“Bet he didn’t know how to satisfy you like I do,” Tom continues, leaning down over her, his chest pressing into her back, growling low in her ear. “Bet he didn’t even know that you’re a dirty little girl that needs it rough,”

She can’t muffle her moans as he slams harder into her, jolting her forward enough that he releases her hair. He reaches around to grab her under the jaw instead, lifting her face up towards the mirror.

“Look at me, Hermione,” He growls, biting her earlobe but maintaining eye contact all the while.

Hermione pants, slapping both palms on the mirror to push back into him, back arching as he picks up his pace. The filthy sound of his hips meeting her ass echoes in the bathroom, and Hermione squeezes her thighs together at the _debauchery_ of it all- the fact that she’s up here, getting fucked within an inch of her life by one ex while the other is one floor below them, probably getting hammered and completely unaware.

The thought doesn’t make her feel guilty like it probably should. It makes her squeeze around Tom’s cock, whimpering as he snarls and squeezes her throat. She starts to shake, knowing her orgasm is fast approaching, and Tom absolutely _pounds_ into her, slamming her hips painfully into the edge of the sink. 

His free hand snakes down her front to rub at her sensitive, swollen clit, knowing that she’s close. His hand around her throat squeezes tighter, and Hermione’s eyes roll back. He always knows how to push her over the edge.

“Gonna come, Hermione?” He asks roughly, fingers digging in. “Gonna come around my cock like a good girl?” Hermione whimpers, senses overloaded. The pressure in her head increases as Tom cuts off the blood flow in her neck, his fingers rubbing faster and faster over her clit as he continues to rasp dirty words in her ear. It’s too much.

“Gonna squeeze my cock with that tight little pussy?” He’s saying- Hermione’s vision going black at the edges. “Gonna scream so loud all your friends downstairs hear it?”

That does it. 

Hermione _does_ cry out, though it’s cut off by Tom’s hand, and her thighs shake and stars burst in front of her eyes and it’s as if she’s breathing for the first time in two years. She squeezes tight around him, and Tom releases her neck as he fucks her through it, grunting as she gasps fresh oxygen into her lungs and slumps, her arms unable to hold her up any longer.

Tom gives a few more hard thrusts before stilling, deep inside of her, and she feels his cum rush in to fill her up. 

She moans as he slowly softens, breathing hard behind her and remaining still, even as his spend slowly drips down her thighs.

Moments pass, the only sound in the room their slowing breaths and the bass pounding through the floor. Reality starts to creep in. Hermione’s stubborn conscience starts to speak up, telling her what a big mistake that was, but her body is still too sated to listen at the moment.

She pushes herself up when Tom finally takes a step back, her legs still wobbly. She watches him watch her in the mirror, both of them looking utterly wrecked, and wonders what he thinks he’s going to do now. Now that he’d dragged her in here and claimed to want to get her back. Actually, she believes he said _take_ her back, which is much more in-character for him.

Tom moves first, tucking himself back in his pants that had only slid down his thighs and refastening his belt. Hermione takes that as her cue to get redressed as well, and looks for her panties while Tom shrugs his shirt back on.

They settle themselves in silence, and after a moment Hermione gives up completely on her hair, which is beyond fixing at this point, and can’t help but turn and glare at Tom a little when she sees what a disastrous state her neck is in. 

He seems unapologetic. 

“Well,” Hermione clears her throat. “That was…” She trails off, having no idea what she even meant to say in the first place. What was there to say? She didn’t even know how she felt about all this yet. It all happened so _fast_. She needs space to figure it all out in her head.

She certainly wasn’t expecting him to show up out of the blue and upend her life again.

“Come home with me,” Tom says suddenly, and the way he says it- _commands_ it, really, without any room for argument, makes Hermione bristle.

“I think not,” She scoffs. “Just because we...just because this happened doesn’t mean I forgive you. Not in the least. You still have a lot of explaining to do.” She sticks her chin up in the air, trying to adopt an air of control, even while he stands so close to her. She needs to be firm this time. She needs to put her foot down.

Tom quirks an eyebrow.

“We can talk at my place.”

“We can talk next week, when I’ve had time to...figure everything out.”

His eyes narrow.

“What’s there to figure out? I’m back, you’re still mine-”

Hermione feels her anger flaring up again.

“Bloody hell, Tom!” She bursts out. “As if we didn’t just have this argument! You can’t just waltz back in here and expect-”

“Tell me something,” He interrupts. “If you had a problem with what I did, with who I _am_ ,” He emphasizes his last word with a general gesture at his chest, referring to the scars now hidden beneath his shirt. “Why did you let me fuck you?”

“I...because, that’s not...it doesn’t mean everything is okay!” She spits out, flustered despite herself. “Don’t assume just because I’m still attracted to you-”

“It’s because you’re mine, Hermione.” He interrupts her _again_ , infuriatingly calm and self-assured and so damn _cocky_ \- “It’s because you’ve always known who I am and accepted it anyway. You pretend to be mad about it to uphold your own moral standards, but then you forgive it, justifying it to yourself somehow, and let me have you anyway. A lot may have changed since I left, but that hasn’t.”

Pissed as all hell and refusing to admit that he’s right, Hermione turns to walk out of the bathroom.

“I told you I’m not talking about this with you right now-”

Tom grabs her hand, halting her steps.

“I know you, Hermione. You’re going to worry and pace and argue with yourself for hours,” He murmurs, still sounding like every word he says is uncontested truth. “Then you’re going to realize there are a lot of things you need to say to me, and you’re going to call.” At this, he slips a piece of paper in her hand. “I’ll convince you that you need to come over, that we need to have this talk in person,” He steps closer to her, towering over her again, keeping her locked still with that dark gaze. “You’ll want a fight, and you’ll berate me and yell and make a big fuss,” He smirks a little, his hand coming up to cup her jaw. “Then you’ll get so worked up that you’ll just have to kiss me,” His thumb brushed her lips. “And then I’ll fuck you again. And after all of that happens about three more times, you’ll stop fighting me and things will go back to the way they were- the way they were always meant to be. Because you’re mine, Hermione, and you know it. No matter what I do. You’ll always be mine.”

Hermione doesn’t realize how hard she’s breathing until he’s finished his little prophecy and released her, taking a step back. He turns for the door, but holds eye contact.

“So go home and overthink things for a while.” He opens it, the music from the party that she had honestly forgotten was happening pouring in. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Then he slips out, and Hermione is left standing there alone, shaken up yet again by Tom Riddle.

She looks at the card that he put in her hand, seeing a phone number scrawled in his perfect cursive handwriting. 

She takes a breath. Thinks about what she’s going to say to Ginny, how she’s going to explain her current state of dishevelment. Thinks about what excuse she could give for leaving the party early.

She finally decides that she more than likely won’t even see Ginny on her way out, given that she had lost her ten minutes into arriving, and that therefore she will simply leave with her abandonment as the excuse. It’s believable enough.

She won’t prove Tom right, though. She won’t call him. She tells herself she’s going to throw this stupid card away at the first opportunity, but she knows it’s a lie. She won’t call him though.

No, she will certainly go home and pace and rant to Crookshanks and think up every reason why taking him back would be a horrible, unhealthy idea. Not to mention _dangerous_. 

But she won’t call. She won’t fall back into his arms. She had gotten it out of her system tonight. She was taken off guard. That’s all. She’s ready to be strong now. She won’t call him.

She tells herself all of this as she leaves the party, not seeing Ginny anywhere, as predicted. She tells herself this over and over again as she gets into her car and drives off. 

She’s firm with herself: _You will not prove him right. You will not prove him right. You will not prove him right._

And she doesn’t.

Because when she gets out of her car and walks up the staircase to the flat she never sold, she never called him.

She just gets out the keys and walks into his house.


End file.
